


Rot Like a Dove

by caffeinechesters



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Skull Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinechesters/pseuds/caffeinechesters
Summary: After his ordeal with John Watkins, Malcolm can’t get him out of his dreams.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Paul Lazar | John Watkins
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	Rot Like a Dove

**Author's Note:**

> I noticed there was a distinct lack of skull fucking and me being a human sin bin decided to change that.
> 
> Title is from “Cocaine & Abel” by Amigo the Devil.

Most normal people want to sleep. Sleep never agreed with Malcolm- well not since his father started chloroforming him and his and his family’s life went to hell. The moment he feels heavy-limbed and slowing heart rate, his mind normally jolts itself back away. He’s tried sedatives, benzodiazepines, and even had a couple of brushes with heroin in college. It never works for very long or even if it will work at all.

It’s just that ever since John Watkins- his father’s apprentice, friend, whatever he may be- kidnapped and tortured him, he cannot sleep. At least not without more vivid than usual nightmares of an overactive and taxed cortex. He should tell his therapist. He should do a lot of things that his therapist recommends, but he could never see again if she knew what his nightmares were made of.

He wakes up chained to the floor, kau tau, with John Watkins sitting, watching. He knows this is a dream. He locked John in a box- he wonders if his father would be proud- he’s safe. It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream echoes in his head.

John appears before him, knife in hand, pulling his chin upwards facing him.

“You’re my mission Malcolm. I’ll cleanse you and mold you into a new person,” John tells him as he cups Malcolm’s cheek and places the knife on the other.

“He’s just a dream,” Malcolm whispers, apropos of nothing.

“I know what you’ve done. I’ve seen you lust after that older cop, lying on your back like a whore with numerous men, and even the drugs. But the Lord forgives. I will guide you back into the light of the Lord’s eyes. You’re a sinner Malcolm but I’ll get it out of you.”

This part always hurts the worst, even though it’s not real- he feels the fear response kicking in. His hands start shaking worse, getting colder, and finally when John’s knife pierces his eye- his vision falters and depth perception gone. He feels the warmth of blood dripping, running down his face as John looks euphoric. Malcolm can feel John’s dick hardening as he rubs his thumb across the now hollow socket and also hears the wet thump of his eye hit the floor. He shouldn’t look. He should keep his eyes-well singulair eye- shut. Curiosity killed the cat and all. He opens his good eye, looking down at the floor near John’s boots, and sees his eye oozing out its vitreous humor from the large slice of the knife. He shuts his eye and repeats his mantra of “this is a dream, it cannot hurt me”.

John’s zipper breaks his thoughts. The slow descent of the pull only puts him on edge even more. He tries to move away, the chains stay in place and the handcuffs dig into his skin.

“Don’t you want to be saved Malcolm? Why won’t you just accept that I am going to cleanse you of your sins?”

Malcolm feels pinned in place. John’s dick is standing proud in front of him with John’s hand steadying it. He tenses when he feels the bulbous head press oh so gently against his eye socket. Malcolm screams when John pushes it in as far as it will go. He screams more as John starts a rough rhythm, breaking his sphenoid bone and medial wall to get deeper. Malcolm at least knows that if this was real, John would probably have lacerations there, but this is a dream. Dreams are not based in reality- like he should be at least losing his hearing by now or speech capabilities with all the damage if not dead.

It goes for an eternity. He can’t escape. He can’t wake up. He feels the blood running down his face and hears the slick sucking sound of John fucking his skull. He can’t wake up. John stills, grinding his pelvis into Malcolm’s skull. Malcolm feels him come inside of him and slowly, carefully almost, John pulls out.

His face is covered in blood, brain matter, and come. He feels John’s hands almost loving caress the side of his face. He knows what’s going to happen next. Fingers dragging, collecting the viscera and blood, and places them on his temple, making a cross.

“In the name of the father and the son and the Holy Spirit Malcolm you are reborn.”

He feels changed looking up with an eye to John. He feels something akin to ecstasy; Malcolm understands how the Catholic saints could face their own macabre deaths with a rapturous smile. In this dream his redeemer and savior is John Watkin- not that he is a lamb to a slaughter.

A kiss and a throbbing in his side from his matching knife wound. They’re now as intertwined as John was to Martin. John unshackled him, steadies him to his feet, with hunger ever present as he begins to unbutton the bloodied shirt and pants.

There’s a buzzing, a click, and the sound of music. It gets louder and louder and louder.

Malcolm awakes with a gasp, tugging on his restraints, and come drying in his boxers. It’s a new day.


End file.
